


love does not make me gentle or kind

by feralphoenix



Series: you can only use your own [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Codependency, Disabled Character, Jealousy, Other, Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The idea of you having to take the throne still feels like a bad joke. Your mom and dad have been the monarchs forever, and some part of you assumed they always would be, even though you know better. You hate even the thought of having to be responsible for the whole kingdom, because what happens when you mess things up? Taking care of Chara, having them need you—that’s all you’ve ever wanted, it’s enough for you.</i> </p><p>Or: Asriel's misadventures with princehood, responsibility, and generally being an adult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love does not make me gentle or kind

**Author's Note:**

> _(a witch without love was dangerous_ – i want a fairy spell and a chemical burn and a name that never erases from inside my jaw)
> 
>  
> 
> this story is set four years after [somebody out there needs you.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5431163)
> 
> warnings for unhealthy relationship dynamics (possessiveness and controlling behavior--see also the "jealousy" and "codependency" tags); discussion of anxiety and suicide.
> 
> wrt the "disabled character" tag, chara has chronic pain (among various other mild-to-moderate chronic health issues) as a result of their poisoning. see the previous installment in this series for details.

It’s six-thirty sharp when your eyes pop open and leave you staring at the wall, completely awake, no take-backs. You know this even before you squint for the clock, because that’s the same time you’ve woken up every morning this week. Nerves must be habit-forming, you remember Chara grumbling on the third day, and you still think there’s part of their gallows humor that you’re not really getting, but it’s—it’s not a _bad_ habit to have formed, you think.

Except, you could really do without your heart racing and your mind going a few hundred miles per hour. Not being able to sit still helps you get things done, but you do miss being able to enjoy mornings more slowly.

There are so many things that you can think of that need doing—that you’d love to do, as long as you’re awake anyway. But there’s a bit of an obstacle in the way of your getting up.

You watch said obstacle for a little while. The need for rush diminishes, just a bit.

Chara is sleeping next to you, breathing deep and even, curled up close the way they usually are—the way they’ve always slept since your horns got too big for you to be able to lie on your back anymore. They fit well there, you think—not really pressed up to your body but still lying in the hollow of the question mark you make. They’re soft. Defenseless. A little rumpled from rolling over a few times, but still beautiful. They’re also between you and the edge of the bed, and they’re sleeping on your arm besides.

Back when you were both kids, it used to put your arm to sleep to have them lay on it all night, but you don’t get pins and needles anymore. They’re so—light, almost delicate. You don’t know when that happened. Usually you’re not _too_ terribly conscious of it, but sometimes when you wake up or when you hug them it just sneaks up on you and bowls you over, filling your heart up with a helpless tenderness you don’t know what to do with.

You watch them a little longer, in the low light. A couple strands of their hair are caught in the edge of their mouth. The white streaks shot through the red peek out here and there, like veins of silver in the mountain walls, or hidden treasure in a storybook. You want to run your fingers through it, bring it to your mouth and kiss it, but—they’re asleep, you can’t get their permission, and you need to stop being weird anyway.

So you lift yourself up on one elbow, bracing yourself with your free hand on the mattress so that you can lean down and nuzzle Chara’s warm cheek. They still sleep so lightly; you’d have no hope of not waking them even if they weren’t laying on you. Better to be up-front about it.

Chara groans when you touch them, and their face crumples into a cross expression. You try to suppress the giggle and mostly succeed—they’re so cute when they do this.

“It’s so _early,_ Ree,” they whine, and hide their face in the crook of their elbow.

“I know,” you tell them. You want to scoop them up and kiss them all over the place. “You can go back to sleep, I just have to get up.”

They turn over to face you, and wind their long elegant human hands into the fabric of your t-shirt. Some of your fur gets caught in their grip too, a little tug that’s not quite painful.

“You’re warm,” they mumble, petulant. “Stay with me.”

Careful, you lift your hand and set the pad of your thumb against their cheek, teasing errant strands of hair between the claws of your forefingers. Chara doesn’t object to the touch, so you stroke them along the cheekbone. Red rushes into their skin in the wake of your fingertip.

Their demand is tempting, it really is. Everything in the world that matters to you is right here in this room, in this bed; you want to hold Chara tight and never ever let go. But there are a lot of reasons why you can’t, and Chara knows that too.

“I’ll be back soon,” you tell them instead. “I’ll get out the extra blankets for you, okay?”

They make a low displeased noise, but they let you unfold their fingers from your front and pull your arm out from underneath them. It’s hard to step over them while trying not to shake the mattress too much, but you do your best. By the time your feet are on the floor, the wood panels chilly against your pads, Chara’s already pulled your pillow to their chest and has their face buried in it, inhaling low and slow. Wrapping themself back up in the smell of you, which makes your face feel hot. You swallow, buying time to get your composure back, and then pull the covers back up to their shoulders.

Blankets first. The chests of drawers are all on what used to be Chara’s side of the room, before you outgrew your twin beds and your mom and dad got you the big one you share now. You take out two quilts—one your mother made, and one that Chara helped on—and carry them back over to the bed, spreading them on top of the duvet. Chara shifts a little under the covers (under your hands), but in what you think is a contented way; they don’t make any displeased noises, anyhow. You kind of wish that you could put this many blankets on the bed to start with, just to keep them happy—they’ve talked before about how the pressure makes it easier for them to sleep—but it gets too hot for you even at this time of year, since you have the benefit of a fur coat.

“You’re as good as an extra blanket anyway,” they told you when you said so, and then they smiled and leaned into you and your heart just about leaped out of your chest.

By the time you lift your hands away, Chara’s breathing is already soft and even. You smile down at them, and resist the urge to touch them—it’d just wake them up again.

Clothes next. Since Chara is asleep anyway, you take off your pajamas before you open the closet. It’s still weird, having your clothes and Chara’s on separate sides instead of all jumbled up together, even though you haven’t been able to fit into even their biggest and baggiest sweaters for at least a year now. It’s even weirder now that neither of you has to wear stripes anymore. After some deliberation, you pick out a short-sleeved polo shirt and an olive-green sweater Chara made for you to put on over it. Pants… you retrieve yesterday’s black ones from where you left them draped over the side of a chair and pull them back on. You’re going to be running around this morning anyway. Nobody will really notice or care, and it will be useful if you get muck on them. Less laundry.

The shirt goes on next, and then the sweater. You lift your locket from the top of the dresser and slip it over your head. The longer chain was last year’s birthday gift from Chara—they joked about being sick of doing up the clasp for you, but their smile was too thin. You’d waited until you were alone with them to promise that no matter how big you get, you’ll never outgrow wanting to wear your locket. That swell of love and pride you get every time you see its twin on Chara’s chest, the security of knowing they belong to you—well. You want them to have that too, because you belong to them on the same elemental level. It’s only fair.

There’s nothing you actually need to bring with you, and so you give Chara one last fond look before you open the door as quietly as you can and tiptoe into the silent hall.

Your mother is sitting at the table with a cup of tea and toast, a stack of paperwork to one side of her plate as she flicks through the newspaper. She spots you over the top of it, adjusts her glasses, and beckons to you from down the hall. You trot across the cold floor into the living room, quiet as you can.

“Good morning, Mom,” you tell her once your feet have carried you to the table.

“Good morning, my dear,” she says, and shifts her grip on the paper to one hand so that she has an arm free to hug you around the waist. You wrap yours around her shoulders and lean down so that you can rest your chin on top of her head, just behind her horns. (You can do that with Chara now when they’re standing, if you get up on tiptoe or lift your head a bit, and that’s strange as anything. Maybe you’ll actually get to be taller than your mom one day, too—that makes you sort of uncomfortable to think about.)

She lets go as soon as you do, and she looks you over appraisingly. “Are you headed out to Waterfall again this morning, Asriel?”

“Uh-huh,” you tell her. “Since there’s still plenty of time before lessons and everything. I’ll be back in time to help Chara with their medicine, I promise.”

“I know you will,” she says. Her smile is so fond, and you bask in it. “Please do your best not to catch a cold; today is a chilly one.”

You nod to her. “I’ll be careful. Is Dad up, or still sleeping?”

She huffs, just as fond. “He has already gone to the garden to fuss over the flowers. He had best not catch a cold either, or I will know why.”

You giggle. “Rest in peace, Dad.”

“Do not be coy with me, young man,” your mother says blandly, raising an eyebrow. You giggle harder. “I expect that you will eat something more substantial when you get back, but please at least have a piece of toast before you leave, will you not?”

She gestures to her own plate, so you help yourself to one slice.

“And I expect you to change your pants to a clean pair once you have returned,” she goes on, shrewd. You nearly choke on the last bite. “You did not expect it to escape my notice, did you? Silly boy.”

You clear your throat while she laughs up at you and then sigh. “Okay, Mom.”

She reaches up to pat your cheek. “Be good, won’t you?”

“I will,” you tell her, and lean down to bump her nose with yours.

 

 

The late November air bites at your nose a bit when you’re outside, and your breath steams as you walk the castle ramparts.

You take your time as you head for the elevator, gazing out across the city, across the whole underground, your parents’ entire kingdom. Many of the street lanterns and even a few windows are still lit; faint, diffuse daylight streams down in hazy pillars from the few tiny holes in the cave ceiling. Here in New Home, it’s very bright; off into the horizon things get darker.

When you were a kid the underground seemed impossibly vast. It’s the inside of a _whole mountain,_ after all, and you may only have pictures in books as reference for how big mountains are on the outside, but you know they’ve got to be pretty big. All of monsterkind fits comfortably inside, after all, and one end of the caverns is cold and the other is hot, like the entire planet in miniature. Moving out here to the new city had taken _days_ the first time.

But then as you got old enough to understand some things, you started to realize just how small this place really is. Monsters have been trapped down here for hundreds of years, and even if everyone is okay with spreading out through the entire place now, you can still get from one side of the caves to the other in a couple days on foot. Only a few hours, if you travel by river. This world is tiny. Claustrophobic.

Boring.

You never thought you’d be seeing it as _huge_ ever again. Telling yourself it’s just a matter of nerves, that things will be back to antsy chafing as soon as you’re past the trepidation, somehow doesn’t seem to help.

How your parents stand having the weight of a whole nation on their shoulders every day, you don’t know.

You take the elevators through Gaster’s half-built power plant so that you can avoid walking through the city and bumping into people, pass through the sleepy hotel lobby with a wave to the deskmonster, and then take the elevator again so that you can skip through Hotland. (Most of the usual pathways have been taken over by monsters wanting to build puzzles, anyway. It kind of makes you want to ask them if they haven’t got anything better to do, except that you already know they don’t. You might’ve considered the scenic route for the sake of dawdling in the heat otherwise, if it didn’t mean being alone with your restless thoughts.)

From there it’s just a run down the flight of stairs, and you’re at the riverbank. The cloaked Riverperson is there on their boat as always. Somehow they always manage to be there whenever anybody wants a ride, like they can read minds. Chara thinks it’s creepy; you’re just glad it’s convenient.

“Tra la la,” the Riverperson says when you approach. “Where to today, Your Highness?”

“Waterfall please,” you tell them, and step carefully onto their boat. It touches off as soon as you have your balance, and you sit carefully and patiently as you drift.

You space out the whole way, lulled by the rocking of the boat and the sound of water trickling. The Riverperson hums nonsense verses (“the heart is the most treacherous foe of all!”) that you only lend half an ear to, and then before you know it you’ve arrived. You thank them and disembark.

It’s even quieter in Waterfall than it is in the capital. That most people are still asleep is one part of it, you’re sure, but it’s never been quite as lively here as it gets even in Snowdin. The only time it ever feels as vibrant and happy here is when the local kids are up and running around, and being kids they’re probably all still in bed now.

That makes things easier for you, though, as you cross the bridges to find some patch of echo flowers that you haven’t visited yet. People reuse the things all the time, that’s how things work around here—and you really shouldn’t begrudge them, because this is all that monsters have got anyway—but it still hurts, checking flowers you’ve used recently and finding your wishes erased.

Once you settle on a patch, you sit next to the flowers and stare up at the ceiling. The distant jewels set there sparkle in the phosphorescent light that the water gives off. It’s pretty, and it calms you to look at. Chara says it’s still nothing like the real stars, but you’ve only ever seen those in pictures, so you can’t really imagine what they’re like.

Who knows if you’ll ever get to see the real sky to compare, anyway.

You take a deep breath and lean over, bending your head down to the waiting flowers.

“Please let the address go well,” you whisper, same as you have every morning this week.

You hold still for a moment longer, just to make sure; once the flowers start to play back a distorted imitation of your voice, you edge back. Sure, it’s a little silly, but you still feel like a weight has lifted off your chest. Your parents do their best to teach you, and you do your best to learn; you’re committed to trying as hard as you can. Even Chara says that you’ve got a way with words when it really counts. So you’re just keeping all your bases covered.

Satisfied, you clamber back to your feet, and pause to brush dirt off your butt. You could go straight back to the Riverperson and go home, but… It’s still plenty early; you might as well swing by the dump and see if anything interesting’s fallen down.

Your mood’s a lot lighter as you make the trek. It’s not that you’re expecting anything, exactly—it’s just that the dump’s fun precisely _because_ it’s so unpredictable. You swing past your mother’s favorite snail farm and descend into the underground’s local trash deposit.

There are some halfhearted planks set up as a sort of walkway, but mostly you just have to wade. The water comes up to your heels; you flex your claws against the silty stone and step carefully. Even Chara slips sometimes here, and them with the benefit of their sneaker treads. You’ll catch hell from your mother for sure if you take a dunking.

But you splash through the dirty water to the waterfall itself, where the biggest junk heap is. There’s a new stack of stuff on top of it, and you circle it appreciatively. Sometimes you miss being small—being unthreatening and tiny enough to escape the attentions of adults when you wanted to sneak around, able to rely on cuteness to get what you wanted—but getting taller has its benefits too. You can pluck things from the very top of the pile without having to clamber your way up the pungent garbage mountain to get there first.

You have to shift a couple of bicycles to even see it clearly, but here, now—here’s something interesting. It’s a big plastic container with the lid on so tight that there’s not even any water inside. You get a hand on either side and lever it out, holding it up and squinting to get a better look at the contents—and start grinning.

It’s books. Somebody threw out a _ton_ of books.

Chara is gonna flip when you show them this—human books almost never make it down here in one piece, so they’ve had to content themself to monster literature for eight whole years. There’s no real guarantee that they’re going to _like_ everything in here, but they’re a book omnivore, they’ll read anything they get their hands on. Stopping by here was a _wonderful_ idea.

Satisfied with your haul, you take the scenic route back towards the Riverperson and their boat. Waterfall has started to wake up, and you say hello to the monsters you meet; a Woshua you run across offers to clean off the plastic container, which you take it up on gladly (it cleans your dirty feet too, its little bird friend cheeping along to its exhortations to _wosh!_ ).

The oppressive warmth of Hotland is welcome now after the damp and wet of Waterfall; you linger a little to let your feet and the container dry, passing good mornings along to workers and schoolkids on their way up and down the elevators. But the clock in the hotel lobby says it’s almost time for Chara to be up and take their meds, so you go back through the half-built Core and to the direct elevator again instead of traversing the city.

Your dad has returned from the garden when you return to the house—he’s with your mom in the living room, talking to her about something in voices too quiet for you to pick up. He’s the first to notice you, though, spotting you over your mother’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Asriel,” he says, smiling.

“Morning, Dad,” you reply.

“You have returned just in time,” your mother informs you. “I have Chara’s medicine prepared; will you take it to them, please?”

“Yeah, just gimme a second to put this down,” you tell her, holding up the container. “I found these in Waterfall. Maybe there’ll be something you guys would like in here, too.”

“Be quick,” your mother says, and you nod and turn down the hall.

It’s hard to get the door open while juggling the books at all, let alone in perfect silence, but Chara has to wake up to take their medicine anyway so you don’t feel as bad about it as you might’ve otherwise. Sure enough, they roll over and groan when you step in.

“Back _already?”_ they say, muffled a little under the blankets they’re trying to pull over their head as if to fend you off.

“It’s been a couple hours, Chara,” you tell them. “Time for medicine, I’ll be right back.”

When you arrive back in the living room, you discover that your mother has already gotten a glass of water, and has wrapped all of today’s meds neatly in a tissue.

“Make sure that they take it all,” she cautions as she hands everything to you.

“I will,” you promise, and you turn back for your bedroom—not quite running, because you’ve slopped all Chara’s water down your front and on the floor from getting too impatient before, and that’s embarrassing. You hate having to clean up, too.

They’re sitting up now, at least, even if they still look negligibly awake. Their hair looks positively windblown, their eyes are still hooded, and the shirt they were sleeping in has gotten twisted and pulled to one side so that it leaves most of their shoulder bare. As you push the door shut behind you with a foot, they groan and turn laboriously so that they’re sitting on the edge of the mattress, thin legs dangling over the side as they lift their hands to rub at their upper arms.

“Here you go,” you tell them, handing them the glass of water first and then opening the tissue in your palm. Chara makes a face at everything your mother has given them today; as usual, they take the powdered medicines first, pouring each packet into their mouth and washing it down with a few sips of water. They make another face at the pills, then pop them into their mouth two by two. You can see their throat work, as they swallow, but they don’t drink any more water until they’re finished.

“Ugh,” they say when there’s nothing left on the tissue. They put the empty glass sideways on the snarl of blankets they crawled out from beneath, and then rake both hands through their hair as if to tame it.

“Good job,” you say, and crouch down on the floor so that you’re at face level with them.

“Whatever,” they say, but they smile at you a little anyway.

You give the doorway one wary glance just to make sure nobody’s peeking before you pull Chara to you gently with one hand and lean in to kiss them. They make a soft noise and relax in your arms, tilting their head further to one side for an easier angle.

The sound they make as you slip your tongue into their mouth is louder, and your breathing and heartbeat both quicken to hear it. Their hands both clutch at your shirtfront like claws. It takes all your willpower to keep from getting carried away, but they taste faintly of medicine still, and that keeps you on task in the end, like it always does.

You check the insides of both their cheeks, then under their tongue (the noise they make is high-pitched and urgent, and you feel flushed all over; you hope you’re not holding on too tightly). They don’t have pills hidden anywhere; they’ve swallowed their meds for real, then.

Assured, you pull out of the kiss as gently as you can. Both of you are breathing hard, shaking a little. Chara’s stare is unfocused for a moment, and it’s so—you want so much to just kiss them again, but you wait for them to regain their composure.

It’s been four and a half years since you started doing this, after all, and they don’t seem to have guessed at your ulterior motives yet. It feels wrong, to take advantage of their unknowing.

“I brought you something,” you let them know, and you can feel the big silly grin spreading across your face even as you say it.

Chara perks up a little at this. “Something? Like what?”

“Let’s get your braces on first,” you tell them. “I’ll show you then.”

They roll their eyes at you and breathe out, a quick huff. “Extortion!” they proclaim, dramatic, half-smiling.

“I’d rather think of it as encouraging you to make good habits,” you say mildly. Chara rolls their eyes and scoffs at you.

You retrieve the gray-black ankle and knee braces from the basket next to the bed. They watch as you lift their slender ankle into your lap, squirming a little as you brush the sole of their foot with one claw.

“I can put them on myself, you know,” they say, trying to sound cross—though the way their voice goes warbly and high-pitched halfway through betrays their shyness.

“It’s fine,” you tell them, soft and easy. “I want to.”

They squirm again, briefly, but don’t protest when you slip the brace over their foot and fasten the straps in place. They let you do the opposite ankle in silence, too. You dawdle a little at it, marveling at their pale vulnerable skin with its sparse hair, the sharp delicate bones of their joints, the thinness of their limbs—all so dissimilar to your own body.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur.

“Yeah, well, you have _awful_ taste,” they quip, disgusted and fond.

“I mean it,” you tell them. Then, on impulse, you duck down and kiss the vulnerable inside of their bare thigh, just above the knee. Their skin is soft under your lips.

Chara _squeaks,_ and you catch your breath.

You don’t really raise your head, but you do tilt your chin up a little so that you can stare straight into their face, and—they’re wide-eyed, blushing, one hand clapped over their mouth.

Hardly daring to breathe, you lower your mouth to their skin again, kissing just a little further up. They make that same noise again, louder this time, and they fidget under your hands just so, and—wow. _Wow._

“Ree,” Chara says, and their voice cracks. _“Ree._ Asriel. Oh my god.”

You pull back at the panic in the way they say your name, raising your head to study their expression properly. “Um—uh. Was that… not okay?”

“It was,” Chara begins, and then they flush deep pink and go silent for a little while. “Nice,” they croak at last.

“Oh,” you say. “Okay.”

You kind of want to do it again right away, but Chara foils you by pulling their knee braces out of your hands and yanking them up over their legs one after the other, movements rough and lacking any sense of romance whatsoever.

“There,” they say. “I was told that you had a gift for me?”

“Oh right.” You’d almost forgotten. You drop down onto your butt and propel yourself along the floor with your feet until you can reach the plastic container. “I found these in Waterfall—maybe there’ll be something you like?”

Chara tilts their head to one side. You scoot back to the bedside and balance the container on your knees, holding it by either side and presenting it to them.

They run their fingers along the opaque green lid as if testing, then deftly sink them in beneath the edges so that it pops neatly off. You’re watching their expression instead of really looking at the books to see what you found, so you’re rewarded with the morning’s _real_ treasure: Chara’s eyes lighting up, brighter than any of Waterfall’s fake stars.

“Oh my _god,”_ they say, breathless, almost reverent. They reach into the box and finger carefully through the books. “Oh my god? I can’t believe you found these, they’re in such good condition. I can’t believe someone put all these perfectly good books in a perfectly good Tupperware and just threw them away! Humans are _idiots.”_

Your own goofy grin from earlier is back in full force. “See anything you like?”

“Be patient,” they say, but they’re grinning just as wide as you—wider, sloppy and eager, the way they used to smile as a kid before the pie incident, before things went wrong and they became so much more self-contained. It sends tingles up your spine just looking at them; they’re too cute to be real. It feels like you’ve got to be dreaming sometimes, knowing that they’re all yours. “Oh, I’ve read this one… This seems interesting, I’ll have to save it for another day. Hm, Toriel or Asgore might like this…”

Then they freeze, a little. Their wide eyes go wider, and their breath catches. “No,” they say, blunt: Not _refusal,_ you think. Maybe disbelief.

“What is it?”

They don’t answer you. Their hands shake as they lift one thin volume out of the box.

It’s a lot shorter than some of the books you’ve seen Chara tear into, that’s for sure. The cover is unassuming, off-white with a print of curly black leaves. But they hold it to their chest with both hands, pressing it tight to their breastbone, knuckles gone pale. Color rises to their cheeks in blotches; their eyes go overbright and tears gather along their lower lashes.

“Chara?” You want to shout their name in alarm, but it comes out hushed instead. They look—breakable, just as fragile as when they were ten and poison had wound itself like roots into their veins.

“It’s—” They take a deep breath, visibly struggling for stability. They close their eyes tightly; a few stray tears spill over, and they unfasten one hand from their book to brush the droplets off their cheeks with the side of their thumb. “Yoshimoto. _Kitchen._ Loved this book.” A second deep breath. “It’s about…” And here they laugh, cutting themself off, slow at first and picking up speed. “I read this at the library, in the village. I read it over and over again. I still know some of my favorite passages by heart. I thought—I’d never get to read it again in my life.” Their forehead creases as if in pain, but they smile, now; it’s the happiest you’ve seen them in a long, long while. “Thank you, Asriel.”

You’re speechless. You’re left momentarily unsure of what to do with your hands—after a few agonizing heartbeats’ lifting them and changing your mind repeatedly, you shift the box off your lap and onto the floor. With that out of your way, you reach out and frame Chara’s face in your hands, not quite touching them, pads only barely brushing their cheeks and their hair.

They put the book down on the mattress next to them—and then they’re leaning in to meet you, pressing their mouth to yours, stroking your face.

It starts off light and fluttery, quick gentle kisses like a small creature’s wingbeats. But your heart is pounding in your throat and your wrists and Chara is warm and vibrant in your arms and your hands slide down to their waist, and they catch you with your lips parted and ease your head to one side and it’s— _voracious_ is the word you think they might use. It’s a good word. Their mouth is soft on yours but they kiss with their teeth too, with their tongue; they’ve almost slid off the bed and into your lap, their knees are pressed lightly against either side of your waist, you’re about ready to explode.

That low needy sound, you realize, is coming from _you._ Wow. _Wow._

Chara slides off the bed entirely and into your arms, and your breath stutters at the sudden heat and weight of them, and your hands are skimming up under their sleepshirt and they’re making this _noise_ and—

A floorboard creaks from the foyer. You and Chara leap apart like someone tossed a bucket of ice water on you both.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to get your heart to steady. When you look to Chara, they’re staring at the door like a wild thing in a trap, pale and wide-eyed and holding their arm tight over their breasts. Their mouth is flushed red from kissing, like a cheerful announcement of what you’ve been doing here. What you _nearly_ did.

The creak resumes, this time moving away. You and Chara both exhale as one.

“That was,” they say, and they pause for a moment as if to search for the best description. “That was—a thing,” they finish.

You might tease them for their poverty of speech at any other time, but you’re just as rattled as they are and you know it’d be mean. You rest back on your haunches, letting all the breath out of your lungs with a _whoof._ Chara folds their knees up to their chest, perching on the edge of the bed.

“We really need to tell Mom and Dad about us, and soon,” you say, after a while.

You don’t know what you’re expecting in response—for Chara to argue, maybe—but they just make a face and sink in on themself. “I suppose you’re right,” they agree.

It’s quiet again, then, but you reach out after a few minutes of silence, and Chara uncurls, resting their hand against your upraised palm.

 

 

You try to pay attention to your mother’s lecture on political theory, but your heart just isn’t in the work. There are too many things on your mind. Mostly involving Chara and this morning.

The possibility of what might have happened without any interruptions is dizzying and terrifying. You wanted to—it was a good, romantic moment and everything. And you’ve, well, you’ve _been_ wanting to. For a while now. You always held off because you or Chara didn’t feel ready yet, or the moment wasn’t quite right, or you were afraid of being caught.

Because—and this is the real problem—your parents don’t really know about you and Chara.

There are a few things that your mom and dad do understand. Like the fact that Chara has always had trouble seeing any of you as their real family, from the very beginning, and that that hasn’t changed. Chara still calls them both by name, like they always have; it doesn’t get much more obvious than that, you’re sure. But both your mom and dad probably still think of the two of you as just best friends, don’t they? It’s not like you’ve ever gone out of your way to hold Chara’s hand or kiss them or anything in front of your parents. There’s always been that vague worry that they wouldn’t approve that’s kept both of you from being overt.

On Chara’s side, it’s probably something stupid like being afraid they’re not good enough in your mom and dad’s eyes. As for you… it used to be just embarrassment, and worry that your mom would stop letting you out with no chaperone or something. But the older you get, and the more serious your parents’ lessons get to be—the more aware you become of your status as prince, and what’s expected of you—

Well. Most monsters don’t have any problem with the humans who live in the underground. Chara did their best to learn everything they could about monsters when they first fell, and after… the whole thing with the buttercups… it became really apparent to everybody that they prefer monsters to their own kind. And then Prase fell, and they’re all right, and from what you’re aware the new kid that came only a few months ago has settled in just fine too.

But welcoming humans rejected by their own species is one thing, and being happy with your future king falling in love with one is another. If people don’t accept it—you may not be sure how Chara would react to that kind of negativity, but you can at least be sure that they wouldn’t like it. _You_ don’t want to have to deal with that kind of negativity either.

Despite all of that—even the thought of being expected to marry some monster instead is just awful. If you have to share your life with _anyone,_ it’s got to be Chara. And though your parents have always deflected everyone’s questions as to whether they want to arrange a marriage for you, that possibility is so horrible and hard to deny that it’s kept you up at night more than once.

So you have to find a way to explain things to your parents, and soon, before this messy situation gets any messier.

The idea of you having to take the throne still feels like a bad joke. Your mom and dad have been the monarchs forever, and some part of you assumed they always would be, even though you know better. You hate even the thought of having to be responsible for the whole kingdom, because what happens when you mess things up? Taking care of Chara, having them need you—that’s all you’ve ever wanted, it’s enough for you.

You want to go back to the days before your mother started sitting you down to teach you about politics and logistics and leadership, before you had to think about just how few Boss Monsters there really are, back when you were a kid who didn’t know anything and your biggest concerns in life were Chara’s well-being and coming up with new games to stave off boredom.

This is when your mother reaches across the table and flicks the end of your snout with a claw. She’s gentle about it, but you still yelp and nearly fall out of your chair.

“Asriel,” she says, her tone of voice controlled and neutral. The corner of her mouth is twitching, and there’s amusement in her eyes.

“Yes, Mom?” you say, pulling your chair back up to the proper position.

“I called your name three times without you responding to me at all,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. “I just kinda… spaced out for a minute there.”

“Indeed,” she says to you. “I would like you to sum up for me as much as you actually heard of my lecture on Snowdin’s economics, so that I may get us back on track.”

“Uh,” you tell her. “I, uh. Um.”

Your mother sighs dramatically. “I knew your attention was elsewhere, but it saddens me that you have not listened to me at all. For the record, I have been explaining today about projected overcrowding in Waterfall for the next century. Snowdin has not even gotten a mention.”

“Oh,” you say. It’s just like her to test you like this.

“Will you tell me what you are worrying about?” she asks, folding her hands on the table. “It is unfair to demand that you learn while so preoccupied, and I would like to help you if I can.”

Like heck you’re going to talk to her about the Chara stuff without getting Chara’s okay first, so you make a face. “I dunno. I just don’t think I’m really ready for all this… ruling the kingdom stuff. I don’t think I’m going to do a good job.”

“You will do just fine,” your mother tells you, reaching across the table to set a hand atop yours. “Besides, it is not as though we will be handing sovereignty over to you immediately. This is why we are easing you into things slowly, so that you can learn and experience in ways that do not overwhelm you until you _are_ ready, rather than having to make everything up as you go along the way that your father and I had to.”

You sigh. “I guess that’s fair. I’m just… nervous.”

“That is all right,” says your mother. “Nerves will pass, in time. Nevertheless, if you are having trouble concentrating, we may as well postpone the lesson until later. You can take some time to calm down, and I can see to other matters until you are in a better state for learning.”

Gratitude wells up in you, one warm strong rush, and you smile. “Thanks.”

She squeezes your hand. “Always remember,” she says, “that your father and I are here for you when you need us. Chara is, too. You may lean on us whenever things get to be too much. That is what love is about, after all.”

“I’ll remember,” you promise her, though privately you think you won’t be leaning on Chara at all for as long as they still need you to be their strength. They’re still fragile. It wouldn’t be right.

“Dr. Gaster should still be here,” your mother says, gathering her books and papers and standing up. You push your chair back and get to your feet next to her. “You can join your father and I in talking to him, if you would like. It is your kingdom too.”

You match paces as you leave the study and head for the long stairs that lead back up towards your living quarters. “Thanks, but… All that complicated science stuff still goes over my head. I think I’ll just hang out with Chara instead.”

“If they are finished with their lesson, dear,” she tells you. She must catch your frown, because she raises her eyebrows. “Since you were busy anyhow and the doctor planned to come visit, Chara scheduled this week’s sign language lesson for today.”

“Oh,” you say. Your stomach has gone twisty and uncomfortable, and your mood darkens with each step you take. You try to ignore the sensation, and also to stop imagining Chara and Prase smiling at each other.

If your mother notices your sullenness, she has mercy on you and doesn’t mention it.

The doctor is signing happily away to your father at the table; your mother crosses the room to join them. She looks over her shoulder at you, like a reminder that you’re free to join them anytime, but you just hold up your hands palm-out in front of you and shake your head, so she continues on her way unconcerned.

You’re not sure where Chara and Prase are, and you think it would be a pretty bad idea to go try to find them in any case. This _also_ means that you’re not sure where to go to avoid them, but as you’re glancing awkwardly around the living room, you get a pleasant surprise: Gaster brought his other kids along today, too.

They’re parked in front of the unlit fireplace, playing patty-cake. Or, well, you guess Sans is playing a one-sided game of patty-cake with his baby sibling, since babies don’t really get that kind of thing. Papyrus sure seems to be having fun slapping their big brother’s palms, though. This whole corner of the room is filled with the light clack of bone on bone, baby giggles, and six-year-old snickers.

You plunk yourself down on the floor to the siblings’ side, crossing your feet and smiling down at them. “Howdy.”

Sans spares you a glance and a big cheeky grin. “’Sup,” he says.

“Not much,” you reply honestly. “What about you, little dude?”

…That is the “in” thing for kids to call each other nowadays, right? Your only exposure to children this young is Sans himself, so it’s hard to be sure. He laughs, either way, so you guess it’s not that much of an issue. “Kinda busy,” he says, though it doesn’t sound like a dismissal. There’s a distinct note of pride in his voice as he continues: “I’m _babysitting.”_

“Wow,” you say. “I thought you were getting bigger, but gosh, that makes you practically a grown-up. I know _I_ wasn’t responsible enough to babysit when I was your age.”

“Hehe, yeah,” says Sans. He reaches in to tickle Papyrus’ sides, provoking a stream of happy giggling. “Dad says I’m good with babies. Even Prase says I’m good at bein’ careful. I’m Pap’s _favorite.”_

He sounds pleased with himself about it, too, which makes you grin. Little kids are really cute, golly.

Maybe interested because they see their big brother talking to you, Papyrus holds out tiny bony hands at you, making curious sounds.

“Oh! Howdy to you too,” you say, and lean down closer, extending one of your hands for them to play with. They pat at your palm, and then grasp the pad on your index finger with both hands. Your fingers are too thick for them to get a whole hand around. It’s kind of… awe-inspiring. You were this tiny once. Chara was too.

Sans elbows you, and when you look up at him his grin is wider than you’ve ever seen it before. “Isn’t my new baby sibling cool?”

“Super cool,” you agree.

“You can pick them up if you want,” says Sans.

You may boggle at that, just slightly. “Is that really okay?”

“Yeah, sure! They’re old enough that you don’t gotta hold their head or anything,” he reassures you, every inch the expert.

And so this is how—Sans bossing you every step of the way—you wrap both your hands around Papyrus’ middle and carefully, carefully lift them up into the air. Judging by the squealing and wild waggling of tiny fists and bootied feet that ensues—that and Sans’ laughter—Papyrus is enjoying it too. You can’t help it—you start to grin.

“Nyooooom,” you croon, gently making Papyrus “fly” around you and Sans while the skeleton siblings both laugh. “Nyoooooooooom.”

You swivel your waist, still making zooming noises and grinning like an idiot—and there, in the doorway between the living room and foyer, is Chara: Standing still with one hand on the wall, with an expression you’ve never seen them wear before. There’s something raw and burning in their eyes, intense enough to give you chills even though there’s no anger or hostility there at all. They reach up to clench their left fist around the locket that sits golden and glowing against the black yarn of their sweater, and they never look away from your eyes even once.

As you bring Papyrus back down to sit in your lap, Chara startles a little and turns to their left. Prase is there, one pale hand on their left shoulder, shaking their long orange hair back. They ask something, so quiet that even you can’t hear them, and Chara makes a face and signs something to them. Prase signs something back. Chara wrinkles their nose and starts to smile. Both of them begin to laugh.

All the happy bubbles in your stomach from playing with the baby pop, leaving something sour in their wake.

“Ah!” your father says from the table. Everyone turns to him. “This is excellent timing. Now that everyone is gathered, I have something to discuss.”

“What is it?” you ask, grateful for the distraction.

“We are scheduled to take a few days to visit the Royal Guard garrison in Snowdin this week, before your address,” he explains. “The timing is close, but I thought that you might appreciate the opportunity to come along and observe.”

You think forlornly about spending those few days home alone with Chara instead, but—even eight years later, your parents wouldn’t want to leave the two of you completely to your own devices. If you’re going to be honest with yourself, you know it serves you right, even though it grates. And it would be nice, to get to watch your mom and dad do some actual governing in person.

“That sounds like a great idea,” you say.

“I am glad that you think so, my son,” your mother tells you, smiling. “Usually it is just your father or I alone; it will go more smoothly with two. Now all that is left is to decide who will be staying home with Chara.”

There’s a brief silence, and then—

“Actually,” Chara says, and there’s an odd note in their voice—you crane your neck back around to see that they’re frowning just a little, “I’d like to come along too, if that’s alright.”

You raise your eyebrows. _Chara,_ inviting themself along on a trip away from New Home that’ll last multiple days? _Your_ Chara?

“Of course you may accompany us,” says your father, for all the world like Chara has just handed him a gift. “You are a member of this household just the same as Asriel. You have every right to know about these matters, too.”

“I must say, I am surprised; you have never expressed a desire to come with us before, after all,” your mother adds. “If I may, what inspired the change of heart this time?”

Chara tucks their hair behind their ear slowly and carefully, a gesture that usually means they’re turning over how to say what they’re thinking. “I _am_ interested,” they say at length, looking at the floor. Then their gaze flicks up, and there’s something unfamiliar in their eyes again. You feel like the ground is tilting beneath you. “But I admit, I have ulterior motives. The—the human child. He lives in Snowdin, doesn’t he? I haven’t met him yet. But I think—I should.”

Only the soft babbling of the baby in your lap disturbs the silence that follows Chara’s words. Even Prase is watching them with eyebrows upraised now.

“Oh, _Chara,”_ your mother says, her voice trembling a little with emotion. Looking back at her shows you that her smile is trembling; she’s lifted both hands to her chest. “This is wonderful news. I will make arrangements for all four of us to stay right away.”

“Indeed,” says your father, smiling and teary-eyed. “I am proud of you, my child.”

“You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it,” Chara mumbles. You twist back around to look at them: They’re red-faced and playing with the ends of their hair, pointedly looking away from the table.

“It is a big step,” your father tells them, gentle but firm. “We’re proud of you, even if you do not see it as such.”

Chara shrugs in fake irritation, their mouth twisted like they’re trying not to smile.

Prase, who has watched all of this in silence, suddenly steps past Chara into the room. “Your Majesties—Dad,” they say. “If it isn’t imposing too much—is it all right if I go along to Snowdin too?”

You very nearly make a sound you _know_ you’ll regret. You pass Papyrus back to Sans—you don’t want a baby in your hands right now—and turn around all the way, so that you can watch everyone else at once.

Gaster is signing. Your knowledge of sign is pretty rudimentary, so you can’t understand what he’s saying at all.

“I just think that if it’s a matter of the third fallen human, I may be able to help,” Prase says when their foster father’s hands are still. “I already know him, after all.”

Gaster turns to look at your parents. You pray quietly for them to just—do something, put their feet down.

But: “It would not be an imposition,” your mother says. “It will not be trouble to arrange the extra accommodations. And I am sure Chara will appreciate the extra support—will they not?”

You gaze at Chara, dismayed. As much as you want them to protest that they’re a grown adult and besides, they already have _you,_ they’re looking at Prase with faint relief on their face. “It… would help, just in case,” they say. “I mean. I’m not going for important business like Asriel. I know better than to expect him to be there with me all the time.”

Back at the table, Gaster bows his head. Acquiescence.

“It is settled, then,” your father says, cheery.

Settled. By all the parents and the humans, while you sit on the floor with the kids where you belong, because your opinion doesn’t _matter,_ apparently.

You want to throw something.

 

 

At nighttime, Chara leaves the lamp on to read while they lie in bed beside you. Their expression is warm, relaxed, but the morning’s spell is broken now. What does it matter, even if you brought them their favorite book back? They still want Prase for moral support over you. It’s only natural for them to want to stick with their own kind.

There’s a little voice that tells you that this isn’t a fair way to look at things—Chara specifically said that they wanted Prase around because you wouldn’t always be available, didn’t they? So Prase is still second best to them, which is what should be important.

You quash the voice, swamped by fresh irritation. Just being Chara’s favorite isn’t good enough. You want to be their _only._ Isn’t that what love is supposed to be about?

You don’t know what’s gotten into them anyway, deciding to meet the new kid all of a sudden. They’ve avoided it since he fell. Heck, it wasn’t even until last year that they could stand for Prase to touch them without having an anxiety attack! It’s too weird. The Chara you know is shy and cautious and _afraid of humans,_ above all. You’d bet anything that Prase put them up to this somehow. They’re no good for Chara.

Even though Chara has gotten more relaxed over the past couple of years? says the little voice, popping up uninvited again.

You roll over and very carefully do not growl. You don’t want Chara to hear you and worry that you’re mad at them. Because you aren’t. Well, you sort of are, but mostly you’re not _really._ You’re just… worried. Because they don’t know what’s best for them.

That’s right. That’s what they need you for. They’ve needed you for that since you were both ten, and they tried to talk you into that awful plan of theirs. You stopped them then. It’s your responsibility to do something now, too.

“Hey Chara, listen,” you say, and roll back over, determined to seize the moment while you’re still filled with purpose.

They look to you, still half-smiling, and just like that your resolve wavers.

“I want the first time to be for me,” they tell you, sweet and affectionate. You’re lost for a moment, until you remember _Kitchen_ in their hands. “I’ll read it to you next time, I promise.”

You take a breath, then let it out. “I’m looking forward to it. But that’s—not what I wanted to talk about.”

They tilt their head to the side. “Then what is it, Ree?”

It’s the pet name that just undoes you. You let your shoulders sag. “I—uh, sorry, Chara. The light’s bothering my eyes a little. Would you mind turning it off when you reach a good stopping point?”

“Oh,” they say, their eyes widening. “Of course. I’m sorry, Asriel.”

“It’s okay,” you tell them. Dammit. Dammit. You’re weak. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I’m interrupting _your_ reading time.”

“I don’t mind,” they say, and they reach up to lay a hand along your cheek: Scarred and gentle. Memory flashes through your head, brief and vivid: That same hand raw with blood and blisters, years and years and years ago. Like your subconscious is trying to punish you for your cowardice.

Chara pulls their hand away. They look critically at their book, then slip their bookmark between the open pages and close it.

“Put this on the dresser?” they ask, offering you their treasure with such absolute trust you want to cry.

But you just nod to them and set it out of the way. Chara reaches for the lamp’s pull chain, and then the room is dark and soft again.

“Goodnight, Ree,” Chara says, burrowing down into the sheets.

“’Night, Chara,” you tell them, lying down on your side. “I love you.”

There’s not even half a heartbeat’s pause before they reply, very quiet: “I love you too.”

 

 

You and Chara wind up holding your parents up on the day you’re scheduled to head to Snowdin—you because you were preoccupied worrying and forgot to finish packing, and Chara because they couldn’t decide until the very last minute whether or not they wanted to bring their book along. They tuck it into the dresser with a sigh just as you finish cramming your clothes into your backpack.

“Better to leave it and at least know where it is than lose it,” they say, but they sound unhappy, and you make a face in sympathy.

When you join your mom and dad in the foyer, your mother has that tight expression like she’s cross but doing her best to suppress it so that she doesn’t upset Chara. It doesn’t make much difference given how good they are at reading her; they go tense and shrink back a little anyway. You open your right hand; they slip their left into it and squeeze, and you try to keep your smile small as you feel them relax.

They don’t let go of your hand until you get to the hotel.

Prase is already there when you reach the Riverperson, and you bite down on the desire to make a face. They turn to greet you, bowing their head to your parents and waving to you and Chara.

“Good morning,” they say once you’ve all come close.

“Good morning, my dear,” your mother replies. “I apologize for our tardiness.”

“It’s mine and Asriel’s fault,” Chara admits readily. “Trouble packing.”

“That’s okay,” Prase says. “I just got here a few minutes ago anyway; Dad wouldn’t stop double-checking to make sure that I have everything I need.” You see a thought flicker across their face. “Chara, will you be alright without a jacket?”

Your stomach sinks a little, because now that you think of it, you didn’t see them pack one, and you didn’t consider it at all because Chara so rarely leaves the city. You of all people should have known better, but—

“I’ll be fine,” Chara says, cutting off your mental spiel. “I doubt that I will be outside _that_ much on my own, and I have a perfectly serviceable fur coat right here.”

And they gesture to you with both hands, expression light and perfectly neutral.

 _“Chara,”_ you say, and snort with laughter.

“If it proves to be troublesome anyway, we can always borrow something from the townspeople, as well,” your father puts in, smiling behind his beard. “Now, as for our accommodations—Tori and I have booked two rooms at the inn, so that you children may have your private space away from us old folk. How does that sound?”

“That should work well,” Chara replies. “Thank you.”

Your parents turn to each other to talk quietly between themselves, giving you space to sigh. It’s great that you don’t have to share a room with your mom and dad, but having to sleep in the same room as _Prase?_ You are _so_ not excited about getting chaperoned by a fourteen-year-old.

Prase themself winces a little, spreading their hands in apology. Next to you, Chara shrugs, like _what can you do,_ and reaches to squeeze your hand. You make a face and then smile down at them. It’s weirdly comforting to know that you’re not the only one who’s not happy with this turn of events.

“All right, children,” your mother says; all three of you turn. “It may be a bit of a squeeze, but the Riverperson does say that we should all be able to fit on their boat. Let us be off.”

“I’ve had more passengers at once before, it’s quite all right,” the Riverperson says cheerfully from upon the water. “Tra la la.”

Your parents get onto the longboat first, then you; you hold out your hands to help Chara on so that they don’t wobble too much. You’re both just sitting down when Prase steps lightly onto the tail end of the boat after you.

Chara leans into your side and closes their eyes. Your parents stay standing; Prase turns in a circle and sits down, crossing their legs and leaning against the low boat wall.

“Off we go then,” the Riverperson announces.

The ride is long and uneventful. The Riverperson hums nonsense to themself as usual; your parents start talking about the treasury, which is boring to listen to, so you tune them out. Chara dozes off half an hour in. Prase thankfully doesn’t attempt to strike up conversation with you; they just stare thoughtfully into space the whole way.

If you watch them it’ll just be weird, so you focus on Chara’s warm weight against your body and how happy their implicit trust that you’ll keep them safe makes you.

Halfway through Waterfall, Prase rifles through their backpack and pulls out a coat; they put it on in silence. You try to pull Chara closer for warmth without jostling them so much you’ll wake them up. They shift a little and you freeze in place, but they don’t open their eyes, so you guess you’re fine.

You nudge them when you’ve gotten far enough out of the tunnels that your breath is starting to steam. They make a face, and crawl over you so that they can sit in your lap instead; you wrap both your arms around them, unable to keep from smiling as they nestle into your chest.

“Better?” you ask, softly.

“Enough to be getting on with,” Chara replies. They yawn.

The lights of Snowdin come into view around the bend, and you bump their temple with the tip of your nose. “Don’t go back to sleep,” you warn, “we’re almost there.”

Chara sighs dramatically. “I _suppose_ I can deal with the great inconvenience of wakefulness if it means I get to pet dogs,” they say, adopting a tragic air. “Alas. Such woe is the unbearable Charaness of being.”

“You’re a dork,” you tell them solemnly.

“I think the appropriate phrase here is ‘it takes one to know one’,” they say mildly. And lower: “Probably you should stop hitting on me, too, unless you want to have that conversation with Asgore and Toriel right now, before we’ve managed to make a real plan of attack.”

 _“You_ started it,” you hiss, but you can’t help grinning.

From across the boat, Prase is hiding a giggle behind their hand, eyes crinkling at the corners. It detracts a little from your enjoyment.

“Ah yes,” Chara says. “We neglected to mention that today’s boat ride would come with a complimentary comedy routine. How lucky you are.”

“His Highness is right,” Prase tells them. “You are a dork.”

Chara shrugs in the circle of your embrace, like it’s a compliment, and one they’ve come to expect.

This is when the boat drifts to a stop. You look up; here the town is, cozy and welcoming as ever in the middle of the snow.

“Tra la la,” says the Riverperson. “Here we are. Watch your step, now.”

Your father disembarks first, offering your mother his arm when she does the same. But Chara gently pushes your arms away and gets up before you do, depriving you of the chance to do the same. They hesitate before jumping to the bank, and wobble when they land, windmilling one arm briefly to check their balance in the snow. But though your heart leaps into your throat and only knowing from experience that you’re risking a dunking keeps you from boiling up off the boat to steady them, they take a deep breath and continue on their way just fine.

Prase, who watched this display without any discontent on their expression at all even though Chara is supposed to be their _friend,_ shouldn’t they be _worried,_ gestures to you lightly, like _after you._ Through a supreme exertion of willpower and a sense that it would be rude to the Riverperson probably, you very carefully do not kick off the boat powerfully enough to make it rock and splash.

“We will go ahead to the inn,” Toriel tells you as Prase disembarks. “Come and join us whenever you are ready, or if you get cold. Do stick together, now.”

“Yes, Mom,” you answer dutifully; Chara says “Yes, Toriel” a beat later, and Prase “Yes, Your Majesty” a moment after that.

“Thank you for your help as always, my friend,” Asgore says to the Riverperson, who carols “Anytime!” in response.

Then your parents walk off into town, leaving you and Chara standing awkwardly on the snowy riverbank with Prase.

“Well,” Chara says, looking from you to Prase and back again, “I suppose we may as well head into town, for the time being.”

“Okay,” you tell them. Prase just watches you and doesn’t say anything. You look directly into their pale eyes as you take Chara’s hand and begin to walk.

The townspeople all say hello to you when they see you pass; you greet them by name when you know their names, mimicking what you’ve always seen your father do when your family goes on trips together. Prase waves to everyone, and exchanges greetings with the people they seem to know—fewer than you do, you note with pride that even you can admit is a little petty. Chara just smiles and nods to the monsters who stop you, glued to your side, enduring the exclamations of how unusual it is to see them out this far with brief, polite answers.

This lasts until you get to the center of town, which is when one of the guards on duty spots you.

You don’t even notice you’ve been spotted until you hear the bark. Chara whirls around before you and Prase do, and they drop your hand with an overjoyed shout. Bemused, you watch them tear across the snow to meet Lesser Dog, who proceeds to wash their face so enthusiastically that they can barely pet it back. Lesser Dog’s tail whips back and forth every which way, and Chara’s laughter is warm and bright.

They look _young,_ like this. Happy and carefree and without the weight of a million worries slung over their shoulders. Your misgivings about all this aside, maybe it’s worth it just so that Chara can have this one moment of unbridled joy.

“I guess somebody’s a dog person,” Prase says, amused, and your spirits fall once more as you’re forced yet again to remember their presence. They’re still smiling a little when they look sidelong at you and add, “Or maybe Chara’s just a fan of all things white and fluffy.”

“Hm,” you say. This causes Prase to wrinkle their forehead at you.

“Look, Your Highness,” they begin.

“Just Asriel is fine,” you tell them.

They nod, as though chewing on this. “Asriel,” they say, like they’re trying it out. “Okay. Asriel, you seem a little unhappy about all of this.”

You get the sudden urge to laugh, even though nothing about this is funny. Maybe Chara is rubbing off on you. “What gives you that idea?”

They just raise their eyebrows at you and give you an extremely bland look. Okay. Fair.

So you jerk your chin towards Chara. “They’re not ready for this,” you say bluntly. “I don’t want them getting hurt.”

Prase looks at you for a while, silver eyes luminous and creepy against the round friendly shapes of Snowdin. Then they look back towards Chara for a moment.

“I think it would mean a lot to them if you supported them right now,” they say. “Yes, there is a chance of this going badly for them. If that happens, then you and I and the king and queen are here to help them through it, and encourage them when they feel up to trying again.”

You’re not exactly sure where a fourteen-year-old kid like them gets off talking down to you like this, and you _really_ don’t appreciate it. But if you sink to their level, then that’ll mean they’ve won, so you take a deep breath and remind yourself that you’re the grown-up here. “Chara doesn’t need to go through that kind of pain at all,” you say. “They deserve better. You’ve seen them have anxiety attacks, haven’t you? What kind of friend would wish that on someone?”

Prase sticks their hands in their jacket pockets, still resolutely watching Chara play with Lesser Dog. “What I’m trying to say here is that Chara is strong,” they say at last. “Maybe even stronger than you appreciate.”

You thought that Chara was strong once, too. Then they let you poison your father and tried to convince you to do the same to them. You’ve watched them tear their own body apart, seen them shake and cry, heard them go to pieces and shout at you about how much they want to be dead.

So you know better now.

“Chara’s not strong at all,” you say. “And they shouldn’t have to try to force themself to be. They have me.”

“That’s a cold thing to say about the one you love,” Prase says. They sound— _sad._

And it’s this above all else that grates on your temper. “I know Chara a lot better than you do,” you say, and it’s one of the hardest things you’ve ever done to keep your voice low. “What do you think you understand about them?”

This finally makes them turn towards you—just half a step. Their freckles stand out in their white face, and their eyes are like ice. They’re smiling, but their brows are low, and their expression is bitter.

“Have you forgotten how I got here, Your Highness?” they say, incredulous. “I’m a failed suicide just like Chara is.”

Your heart drops into your stomach like a stone.

Prase breathes out, their shoulders slumping. “That was petty of me,” they say, turning away from you again. You note, as they likely want you to, that it’s not a real apology. “What I wanted to say was—I know how important you are to Chara. It would mean a lot to them if you believed in them right now.”

You have no idea how to address what they’re getting at, so you cross your arms instead. “When did Chara even—tell you about us, anyway?”

“They didn’t, exactly,” Prase replies seamlessly, like this was the real topic of conversation all along. “You’re both pretty obvious, though. I guessed and they didn’t deny it, that’s all.”

“Oh,” is all you can come up with in reply.

Prase is quiet for a while. Finally, they shrug and stamp in place in the snow. They pull their hands out of their pockets and cup them around their mouth. “Hey Chara,” they call. “That might have to be enough for now, your fur coat’s getting lonely. Come pet him too before he gets too jealous.”

It’s like being stabbed in the stomach, and you draw back and begin to bristle instinctively before you can stop yourself.

Chara gives Lesser Dog one more pat (its neck has already extended like a giant, overexcited snake) and then comes trotting back through the snow towards you. Their cheeks are flushed with the joy of playing with dogs, but their ears and nose and hands are red from cold; you open your arms and let them press right up to you.

“Howdy,” you say, trying to smile. You think you’re succeeding, probably, maybe, you hope. “Looks like somebody was having fun.”

“Yes, hello,” they say into your front, and giggle. “I may have gotten _slightly_ carried away.”

“Just a little,” Prase says, grinning at Lesser Dog. It’s still retracting its neck.

“Look at your poor hands,” you scold, cupping them in yours. You bow your head to warm them with your breath, which makes them jump a little.

“I’ll be fine, Ree,” they say, trying to pull away. “We should go to the inn and put our things in our room anyway; I can warm up while we’re inside.” They stress _inside,_ and you know they’re worrying about you getting all PDA-y in so public a space, but you’re still seeing red at all of Prase’s unspoken accusations and you want the whole underground to know that Chara is yours and always will be and that that means you know best for them.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you say anyway.

 

 

“Oh! Yes, we’ve heard from the king and queen already,” says the innkeeper, handing each of you a key. “Your room is upstairs and at the end of the hall. It should have two beds.”

“Thank you,” Prase says. You and Chara just nod.

The room turns out to be a little cramped compared to your bedroom, but your bed itself should be big enough for you and Chara to sleep in with no problems. Chara sets their backpack down on the floor, kneeling down to search through it. Prase leaves theirs atop their own bed and returns to the doorway.

“I’ll be outside if you need me for anything,” they say, and close the door behind them. You don’t know whether to be grateful at the meager show of courtesy or even more annoyed—what, do they expect you to break down and promise to let Chara have their way forevermore just because they think you’re jealous? _Please._

“Here,” Chara says, sounding satisfied with themself. You look back towards them—they’ve taken a second sweater out of their bag; as you watch, they pull it over their head. “It isn’t quite the same as a coat, but this ought to help with the temperature at least somewhat, don’t you think?”

“Chara, you know Mom and Dad said you can just borrow a coat from the innkeeper.”

They smile. It looks forced. “I don’t want to impose,” they say. “I really don’t intend to spend that much time outdoors; I’m the one who lacked the foresight to bring something warmer along. I will be fine, Asriel. I can handle it.”

Anxiety and misgivings well up in you, and you cross the room, sweeping Chara into your arms and hugging them with all your strength. They stiffen briefly, then squirm.

“Asriel, that hurts.”

You’re shaking, you realize. “Stop _pushing_ yourself like this,” you say, and your voice has begun to raise without your permission; your eyes, to your frustration and embarrassment, are getting wet. “Chara, you dummy, when are you going to stop acting like everything’s perfectly fine until it’s too late and you get really hurt? At this rate you’re never—”

 _You’re never going to be able to function without me_ dies in your throat when you cut yourself off. That sounds too—accusatory. Chara’s an idiot and all, but they didn’t break themself. It’s not their fault they’ve been broken as long as you’ve known them.

Chara wriggles in your arms again, and you want to hold them even tighter, keep them still, keep them safe. But if you do that, you’ll risk _really_ hurting them. You grit your teeth.

They get an arm free, and reach up to stroke the side of your face.

“You _were_ lonely,” they say, murmur really. “I thought Prase was joking. I’m sorry. You must understand, it’s not as socially acceptable to pet your non-dog friends in public.”

Their tone of voice is light. You grit your teeth harder, hard enough that it starts to hurt. But they keep running their fingers through your fur, and the contact soothes you despite your frustration.

It feels so odd to think this, but you’re glad that they aren’t trying to kiss you. If they did—you’d either push them away or you’d be way too forceful, and you don’t want to hurt them.

“Let’s go home,” you blurt out.

Chara’s hand stills on your cheek. “What?”

“Let’s go home,” you say again. “This is _awful._ There’s no way this is going to go well. I’ll take you back to the Riverperson and you can just—stay home and read, I’ll ask Dad to go back to stay with you so you won’t be alone, you know he would be happy to. You don’t have to do this.”

Chara is very quiet for a while. “Asriel,” they say at last: “what’s bringing this on? This seems like an overreaction if it’s just about me getting cold. It isn’t about that at all, is it?”

You want to scream, because they’re so smart and yet they’re so _abysmally_ stupid at the same time. “That’s what I want to ask _you,_ Chara. Why do you want to meet this other human all of a sudden? It’s not like you to make impulsive decisions like this. You’re not ready for this and I don’t want you to get hurt. Let’s just go home. You can stay safe that way.”

“Asriel,” Chara says. “Let go of me.”

You clench your hands on their hip and the back of their head. “I don’t want to.”

“Let go of me,” they say again, this time sharper.

You don’t let go, but you relax your grip. Chara pushes out of your arms and looks up at you, pinning you in place with the jewel-red of their eyes.

“You’re right, I’m not ready,” they say, soft and grave. “But I won’t ever be ready to meet another human, and this is something I _need_ to do—for myself and as a representative of the Dreemurr household, because I’m still associated with you even if I’m not family, even if you and I aren’t public yet.”

“Chara,” you say.

“This is a good chance for me,” they go on, as if you haven’t said anything at all. “I’m in control of the circumstances. This is on my own terms. If I give this opportunity up out of nerves, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to have this much agency. I will meet him eventually, because the underground is too small for me to avoid him forever. And I don’t want that meeting sprung on me when I’m vulnerable and not expecting it. I can’t count on things going nearly as well as they did with Prase.”

It makes sense and you hate it. You keep opening your mouth to argue, but you don’t know where to start to fight Chara’s logic because all you want is for them to be _safe_ and it’s emotional and irrational but it’s the truest and most important drive you have.

“I appreciate that you’re worried for me,” they say, and they soften just a little as the words come out. “But I can’t go home like this. I have to at least try.”

The look in their eyes is strange and frightening and you hate this. They just won’t see sense and you _hate_ this. You just can’t understand.

“Chara!” calls your mother’s voice, distant. “We have a visitor for you!”

You watch as Chara goes tense for just a moment. Then they square their shoulders, take a deep breath, and head for the door. You move to block them, but you’re just a step too late, and your arm brushes their back as you reach out.

When they open the door, they turn and fix you with a burning look. “Asriel,” they say, rough, barely a whisper. “Will you come with me?”

You want to grab them and hold them here and never let them go because there’s no way that this is going to end well, they have to let you _protect them,_ don’t they see it’s for their own good?

But even if you did, you get the feeling that it wouldn’t work. Come to think of it—even back when you saved them eight years ago, you couldn’t talk them out of the plan at all. You had to tattle on them so that your parents could _force_ them to stay alive, because you couldn’t do that on your own.

Stupid, _stupid_ Chara and their stupid dumb determination.

“I’ll go,” you say sullenly. “I still hate this and I think you’re being an idiot. I’m mad, but I still want to help if this goes wrong.”

“I’m going so that it won’t go wrong, silly,” they say, and try to force a smile. It comes out awkward and lopsided. “If you’re there with me, I’ll feel a lot stronger.”

You sigh and slump, because that’s it, isn’t it; even after all this time, you’ll follow Chara to hell and back when they tell you that. At least this new brilliant plan of theirs doesn’t involve suicide.

“All right, all _right,”_ you say.

Chara takes another deep breath and nods. Then they’re walking away, with—with that terrifyingly foreign purpose and conviction in their gait.

You close the room door behind you and chase after them.

 

 

It’s crowded in the lobby.

The innkeeper is still behind her desk sorting out paperwork; your parents and Prase stand to one side of the door. In front of the door itself are two tall dog monsters in black hoodies you recognize—it’s Dogamy and Dogaressa, both members of the Royal Guard. Between them is a smaller figure that you’ve only seen from a distance so far.

Chara’s steps slow as they descend the stairs, letting you catch up to them. You still want to grab them by the elbow and—escape somehow, but even you can admit that it’s too late for that if you don’t want them to lose face.

“Ah,” says your father, jovial. “Allow me to present Chara, the ward of the Dreemurr family—and our son Asriel, of course.”

“Hello, Chara!” says Dogamy.

“(Nice to see you again, Chara,)” Dogaressa chimes in. Despite yourself, you smile a little. Of course Chara knows them; of course they’re on good terms. They’re dogs, after all. There’s not a single dog in Snowdin that Chara _doesn’t_ get completely goopy and affectionate over, not even that tiny annoying one that constantly gets into everything.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” Chara tells them. They’re smiling, soft and relaxed.

Then the Dogi gesture to the child who stands between them, holding their hands.

“(We don’t think you’ve met our son,)” Dogaressa goes on.

“Say hello, now,” Dogamy tells the human.

So prompted, the human boy drops his foster parents’ hands and steps into the light.

He’s tiny, you realize belatedly. Maybe you should’ve figured as much, because you and Chara and Prase were all little when you were that age too, but you’ve only seen the third fallen human from afar, and the impact was sort of lost on you.

The next thing that stands out about him is his riot of curly red hair. It coils out around his head like a halo from those religious human books that Chara gets mad just looking at, thick corkscrews standing out every which way. His skin is a warm brown color much darker than Chara’s, and he’s got bright green eyes, big bushy eyebrows, a button nose, and a wide smiling mouth. He’s wearing a dark shirt and _shorts,_ in _this_ weather, with knee-high socks like that makes up for it. He’s got a red bandanna tied around his neck. It’s got abs drawn on it in what looks like permanent marker.

“Hi!” says the human boy. He has a sweet voice, high-pitched and warm. “My name’s Rufus.”

“Greetings,” Chara says. It’s stiff and wooden, but their voice doesn’t shake or crack. “I am Chara.”

Rufus beams, and even with all your misgivings, it feels warmer and brighter in the room. “Man, it’s so cool to finally get to meet you! Prase was like, you gotta wait and let them come to you, but I’m _really_ bad at waiting.”

You look at Prase and raise an eyebrow.

“He was offering to run straight to the capital to say hello when we talked about it,” Prase offers in explanation. “I didn’t think that was a good idea.”

You cringe a little at the thought. On the step lower than yours, Chara winces too.

“I—apologize that it has taken me so long,” Chara says. They’re still overly formal, but they seem to have a slightly easier time stringing words together now. “I am—I’m not fond of humans on principle.”

You don’t know what to expect—for Rufus to take it personally and sulk, since he _is_ a child—but he just nods. “Me neither,” he says. “Monsters are _way_ better than humans.”

Chara relaxes a hair. Across the room, Prase is smiling sadly.

“We were surprised when Rufus emerged from the old capital,” Dogamy explains.

“(We’ve never seen _or_ smelled a human that was excited to meet monsters before!)” says Dogaressa.

“Excited?” you ask. You never paid much attention to the discussions of what happened when Rufus first came to the underground; you knew he hadn’t hurt anybody and settled down in Snowdin, and that was enough to satisfy your curiosity. After Prase, new humans were old hat, you’d thought.

“Monsters are _cool,”_ Rufus asserts, like this is commonly known fact. “I heard the old fairy tales, but I never thought they were actually true ‘til I came here.” He lifts his chin, looking self-satisfied. “People always did say that a freak like me would fit in better with other monsters, but the joke’s on them, ‘cause I _love_ it here!”

He sounds so _proud._ You can’t help it; your heart stirs. Maybe it’s wrong to pity him when he’s so obviously happy now, but you think of Chara when they first came, jumping at shadows and cowering away from your parents’ touch, and—your heart hurts.

A little unwillingly, you think about what Prase said. That they and Chara were both failed suicides. Is Rufus like that too?

“Monsters _are_ great,” Chara says, and when you look at them, they’re smiling down at the human boy warmly. Conflict roils in your soul—you _hate_ that Chara’s looking at anyone other than you like this, but how can you begrudge them that? How can you begrudge _Rufus_ that? Compassion is part of who you are, the same as it is with every monster, but sometimes you wish you could just get rid of yours. “I’m happy that you were able to find a place here.”

“Do the rest of you want to maybe go for a walk while we talk?” Prase says. All of you turn to them. “I mean, it’s a little crowded here, and I’m sure Their Majesties and the Dogi have business to take care of.”

“Dude, I _love_ walks,” Rufus says, bouncing up and down on his heels. “We should go! I can show you all the neat stuff around the forest!”

“Is that okay?” you ask your parents.

“Our official business will not start until tomorrow,” your mother assures you. “It is fine. Please, enjoy your time with your friends.”

Okay, _friends_ is maybe too strong a term where Prase is concerned, and Rufus you’ve only just met, but you still don’t want to let Chara out of your sight, so you’re not going to complain.

“One last thing,” you say. “Chara forgot their jacket; has somebody got an extra that we can borrow?”

 _“Asriel,”_ Chara protests, whirling around to glare up at you. You glare back down at them and raise your eyebrows at them too, because by golly, you are not budging on this point.

“(You can borrow mine,)” Dogaressa offers, unzipping and shrugging out of her black hoodie. “(It’ll be big on you, but the hood will keep you warm.)”

Chara sighs long-sufferingly, but they walk down the remaining stairs and accept the proffered jacket. They pull it on over their two sweaters, zip up the front, and stuff their hands in the pockets for good measure. “What about you?” they ask Rufus. You note as you descend the stairs to join them that they’re still staying out of arm’s reach of the other human, which makes you feel a little better. “Don’t you need a coat too?”

“I’ll be fine!” Rufus says, effervescent. “I like the cold.”

And that’s that. Rufus leads the way outside; Prase goes after him, and you and Chara after them.

True to his word, Rufus leads you off to the outskirts of town, to the forest beyond. He’s always running and scampering back and forth, charging on ahead and then doubling back on his tracks to urge the rest of you onward.

“I’ve been thinking this for a while now,” Prase says, laughing, the third time this happens, “but I bet the reason you like the cold so much is because you never stay still long enough to feel cold in the first place.”

“Maybe!” Rufus is laughing too, not put out by their teasing in the least. “But like… why stay still when you can walk, and why walk when you can run? There’s always a ton of stuff to see if you’re willing to go try to find it!”

“There’s also plenty of stuff that you can’t appreciate unless you’re willing to sit still and be patient,” Prase says.

Rufus is undaunted. “That’s why you and me make a good team! We can tell each other about the good stuff that the other person’d miss.”

Prase shrugs, but they’re smiling.

“You two seem pretty friendly,” you observe.

“I got to know Rufus soon after he fell,” Prase explains. “He heard that there were other humans here in the underground, got curious, and came to New Home to meet us.”

“You just—all by yourself?” you repeat, turning to Rufus for confirmation.

“Yeah, Mom and Dad got mad at me afterwards and everything,” he tells you, nonchalant. “They didn’t even punish me, though. I think they were just glad I was okay. It was _really_ weird and nice. I’m still not used to that.”

“Dogamy and Dogaressa are already parents to you,” Chara observes. You look down at them—they’ve been quiet so far, but they’re just watching Rufus and Prase go back and forth with an expression of mild interest.

“Uh-huh,” Rufus says. “Is that weird?”

“Not weird, but… It took me a while to start calling my new dad ‘Dad’,” Prase muses. “I wasn’t ready to for a long time. First it felt disloyal to my birth family. Then I got worried that if I actually got attached to Dad and Sans and everyone else, I’d get taken away from them.”

Chara shrugs. “I can’t even consider Asgore and Toriel my family at all. It would be a terrible insult to compare them to the trash that made me.”

“This is probably one of those things that’s different for everybody,” Prase decides.

“I think it’s amazing in its own way that you, like, actually call the king and queen by their _first names,”_ Rufus says. “Don’t people get mad?”

“Their Majesties don’t seem to mind that much,” Prase says. “Even Asriel got uncomfortable with me calling him Your Highness and told me to just use his name.”

(It was because their stiffness felt like they were trying to insult you somehow and you got annoyed, but it’s not like you’re going to admit that in front of Chara, so you let that pass without comment.)

 _“Wow,”_ says Rufus. “Can I call you by name too?”

“Sure, I guess?” You tilt your head to one side, bewildered. “Gosh, humans sure seem to care about status a lot more than monsters.”

“The underground is very small,” Chara says. “Once you’ve lived here for long enough, no one is a stranger. There’s less reason for monsters to stand on ceremony, I suppose.”

“That makes sense,” Prase says, nodding. “Count on you to know, Chara.”

The expression Rufus turns on Chara is one of shining admiration, and you can feel your spirits sink again. You’re the odd one out here; you don’t belong. And Chara is finally among their own kind—the in-betweens, rejected by humanity but not quite the same as monsters. You know that you and Chara belong to one another. That’s just how your life is, a basic constant of your universe. But even imagining Chara drifting away from you to mingle with Prase and Rufus instead—hurts. You feel like you’re falling down.

There’s a soft crinkle of cloth, and when you turn your head towards the noise, Chara is pulling their hand out of the pocket of their borrowed hoodie. They reach for yours, and when they grab it, the strength of their grip surprises you. They tuck their thumb between the palm of their hand and yours, worrying it along your pad to feel the grooves. It tickles. You look up at their face. If they’re nervous, they’re doing their best not to show it.

“Do you want to go back to town?” you ask them in a whisper. Rufus is already scampering away again, and Prase is walking after him in long quick strides; there’s no worry about being overheard.

“No, I’m okay,” Chara breathes in response. “I’ll tell you if I don’t think I can handle it.”

You still kind of want to grip their hand and lead them back right now, but… You sigh. You guess you’ve come this far already anyway. May as well keep trying a little longer.

The two of you turn the bend, following the two pairs of small human tracks deeper into the forest. Prase and Rufus are waiting for you—Prase with their hand in the back of Rufus’ shirt, forcibly restraining him from charging on ahead.

“You guys are slow like old people,” Rufus informs you.

“We _are_ old people,” Chara retorts. “We’re eighteen and I’m all creaky.”

Rufus sticks his tongue out in response to this. You grin despite yourself.

“It’s been a while since Chara’s been out this way,” you tell them. “Give us a break.”

Both Prase and Rufus look curiously at you. Chara shrugs, one graceful movement. They exhale long and slow, breath making a white pillar. “Since we moved from the old capital to New Home, he means,” they explain. “I’d only been here for a few months at the time.”

You stand on your tiptoes, trying to see over the trees to the city walls. A few monsters still live there, you think; most of the old citizens have long since moved out to Hotland and New Home, though.

“What’d you guys do when you fell?” Rufus asks, suddenly. You look down at him sharply. “I saw the pillars and I knew there had to’ve been people here, so I just got up and started exploring until I met some monsters.”

“Lucky boy,” Prase says. Their smile is tight around the edges. “They planted a flowerbed there the year after I came, because I broke both my ankles when I jumped. I couldn’t move anyway, so I was stuck there until one of the Whimsuns heard me crying.”

Chara is silent for a while. You watch them, worried, but they just close their eyes and squeeze your hand.

“I don’t remember it very well—I had a concussion and I’d broken an impressive number of bones,” they say, “but I’m told I called for help.” Then they turn towards you, and they break out into this impossibly soft, sweet smile that makes your face go hot and your insides do flips. “Asriel saved me.”

You want to kiss them. You want to just—just take them by the shoulders and kiss them, right now, except that the kids are watching so you can’t. But you squeeze their hand tightly, and they squeeze yours back, and then they lean into your side, all soft and warm.

A little further down the path, Rufus leans in towards Prase.

“Are they _always_ this embarrassing?” he asks.

“Yep,” Prase tells him, no hesitation at all, and you sputter.

They look over their shoulder at you, all would-be innocent, and they inform Rufus, “You get used to it after a while.”

Chara kicks slush at them; Prase dodges, giggling.

You walk a little further, in silence that keeps getting more companionable.

“Is it fun to live with the Royal Guard?” Chara asks Rufus after a few moments.

“Yeah!” Rufus answers, right away. “They’re like—like the police if the police actually did what they were supposed to do. Mom and Dad and everybody go around helping people, they let me come watch, it’s really great. Hey Prase, is it fun living with Dr. Gaster?”

“It’s a _mess,”_ Prase says, but they’re grinning. “Science everywhere. And there’s Sans and now the new baby—I was never the oldest, until I came here. But it’s fun, yeah. Dad says I can start helping him in the lab soon, if I study hard. I’m looking forward to it.”

“What about you, Chara?” Rufus wants to know.

“My life isn’t very adventurous,” they say. “But I get to be with the people who care about me every day, and that makes me happy.”

You can feel yourself blush, even as the kids trade long-suffering glances.

“How about you, Asriel?” Rufus asks. “What’s it like living with a human?”

“Me?” you say, baffled. “Hmm… Well, I’ve been together with Chara nearly half my life now. It’s just—normal. We wake up together, I do my lessons, we do fun things together, we eat together, and we go to bed together… I can’t imagine what my life would be like without them.”

“Wow,” Rufus says at length. Beside you, Chara is the one blushing now. “You guys are totally like an old married couple.”

“Very domestic,” Prase puts in.

“Totally embarrassing,” Rufus concludes.

“Stop picking on your elders,” Chara says—squawks, a little.

Rufus grins hugely and turns around, spreading his arms out wide at his sides as he starts to run off again.

Chara is the first one to react—you can feel them go stiff beside you; when you glance down at them they’re going pale, eyes wide. Prase yelps out a warning next, and you whip around in time to watch Rufus’ sneakers hit a long splash of ice, sending him skidding wildly forward, whooping all the way.

He pitches facefirst into a snowdrift, flat on his chest and stomach with his legs kicked up into the air, shoelaces flapping.

There’s a long horrible moment of silence that makes your fur stand on end—

—and then he sticks his arm up through the crust of snow, giving you all a thumbs-up.

“I’m okay!” he yells, muffled a little in the snow. “I’m cool!”

Beside you, Chara bursts out laughing.

It’s not that strained giggle they make when they’re scared or stressed, either: They grip your sleeve as they list to one side, gasping for breath in between full-voiced hearty laughter.

 _“‘Cool’!”_ they repeat, scrubbing their face with the heel of their hand. “That pun is _awful!”_

Rufus extracts himself from the snowbank with a loud crunch. “You’re laughing, though!”

“I am and I _hate_ it!” Chara crows, all unbridled glee.

Rufus skates back across the ice to the three of you while Chara gets themself under control, nimble now that he knows what he’s standing on. He’s got snow in his hair and all down his shirtfront, and his face is flushed with the cold.

“Do you maybe want a jacket now?” Prase asks.

“Let me,” Chara says, still smiling a little. “This is your mother’s anyway, and I have three layers on right now, that’s far too many.” They undo the zipper on Dogaressa’s hoodie, and begin to shrug out of it.

“Thanks, dude,” Rufus chirps, and quite naturally he strides forward with a hand outstretched to take it.

Chara jerks back, wide-eyed and stricken, before he can even come close. They grab for their locket with their right hand, and cling to your arm with their left—chest hitching as they struggle to breathe, trembling all over. You reach out with both hands to steady them, ground them, anything; from the corner of your eye you watch Prase steer Rufus back and out of the way. Good.

“Chara?” you say softly, gently. “Breathing exercises?”

“No,” they reply. Their voice is warbly and they’re still shaking, but they close their eyes and their expression hardens. “I’m—all right. I’ll be all right.” They rest their forehead to your breastbone and shiver. “Fuck.” And quieter: _“Fuck.”_

You rub their arms as they cling to you, murmuring whatever words of support you can think of. Hardly five minutes have passed when they straighten up and pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Rufus says from somewhere to your left. “I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chara says. They take the hoodie off and pass it to you, then busy themself with shaking out their hair. “It isn’t your fault.”

You pass the hoodie on to Rufus, who pulls it on. It’s laughably oversized on his tiny body. Chara crosses their arms, avoiding everyone else’s eyes; you sling an arm around their shoulders, as much to comfort them as to keep them warm.

“We should head back to town,” Prase says. “We’ve been out here for a while anyway.”

“Sorry,” Rufus says again, his voice even smaller now.

Chara smiles, or tries to. You don’t care if it’s PDA, if it’s outing yourselves, if it’s embarrassing—you cuddle them and press a kiss to their temple. They lean into you, soaking up the affection, and you preen a little. “Really, it’s okay. I don’t blame you.”

“It’s happened with me before too,” Prase tells Rufus consolingly, patting his hair. “Chara will be just fine. They have Asriel, and they have us, and we’ll all be getting back where it’s warm and quiet soon.”

Rufus squares his jaw. You know you ought to be annoyed with him for upsetting your Chara, even though it _was_ just an accident, but you appreciate his pluck. “Right. I _am_ sorry, even so. But let’s go home.”

 

 

You all wind up eating dinner at Grillby’s together, you and Chara and your parents and Prase and Rufus and the Dogi crowded together around two tables smushed up next to each other. Chara is all giggly and tactile coming down off the adrenaline of their attack, minor though it was; they hold your hand under the table and steal fries off your plate even when they know you’re looking. You let them do it, feeling indulgent.

Maybe because Chara seems perfectly cheerful now, Rufus has recovered from his shame; he scarfs down a full three burgers and a whole plateful of fries, chugging a frothy pink milkshake in between huge bites.

“He sure eats a lot for such a little guy,” you remark in what you mean to be an undertone, but everybody around the table laughs, including Rufus himself.

“Our son has a _very_ healthy appetite,” Dogamy says proudly.

“From what I can gather, he eats like three times his own weight in food every day,” Prase adds, wry.

“Man, I hated these tofu burgers when I first came here,” Rufus says, “but they grow on you after a while. I still miss real meat though. I think that’s like—the only thing about the surface I _do_ miss! Actual hamburgers.”

“If there’s any one thing I miss,” says Prase, “it’s the sunrise. I used to love watching it every day. But I can live without it. Life here is so much better than it was aboveground.”

Your parents are quiet. You wonder if they’re thinking about their own far-away memories of living on the surface, when they were young and war still raged.

“There’s nothing that I miss,” Chara says. “Nothing at all.” And they lean into your side. “Everything I need is right here.”

You close your eyes and squeeze their hand.

 

 

They’re still clingy when you get upstairs (you’ve all been sent to bed by your mother—she has promised you an early start in the morning). Clingier, even—openly flushed with victory now. You only have to sit down on the bed for them to crawl into your lap, combing their fingers through your half-grown mane while they pepper your mouth and cheeks with kisses.

“Keep it PG-13 over there,” Prase says from the other side of the room, flapping a hand at you without even bothering to look. They’re lying on their bed, balancing today’s crossword against their thighs.

“They’re probably right,” you say regretfully, putting your hands on Chara’s shoulders to keep them from swooping back in. “You’re all loopy, Chara. I think you should lay down and go to sleep.”

“Thwarted again by common sense,” Chara says, rolling their eyes and pretending to be stricken. “Can you blame me for feeling a bit celebratory? I wasn’t expecting all of that to succeed so spectacularly.”

You lean in and smooch them on the forehead. “You’re starting to talk like you ate the dictionary again,” you point out. “Which means it’s bedtime for you, Mx Party Person.”

“Oh, all _right,”_ Chara says, wriggling out of your arms. “Turn around while I change.”

You do, obedient, though it doesn’t stop you from imagining a little when you hear the soft thumps against the bed and the floor as they peel each article of clothing off. Even if Prase wasn’t here, it’d be a bad idea to turn: You might tell yourself you want to just look, but if you look you’ll want to touch, and your parents are in the next room and Chara’s not sensible enough to stop you from getting carried away right now.

“When are we going to tell Mom and Dad,” you say out loud.

 _“Ugh,”_ Chara says. “Business-minded, you are. I was hoping for after we get back home and before your address, personally! The more extra stresses we get off your mind before then the better. It’s safe to look now, by the way.”

You turn back around. They’re in their warmest and fluffiest pajamas, the black ones with the faded rose print on the pants—the ones that, incidentally, drape over their thin chest in a way that their usual sweaters or t-shirts don’t. You swallow. Chara folds their knees so that the mattress bounces when they sit: They’re bright-eyed and flush-faced, hands busy and inquisitive along the rumples of the duvet, toes tapping.

“But that’s so soon?” you say, scootching up next to them. They abandon the bedclothes to pet you instead, fingers running over and over your fur and your horns.

“Better to just get it over with,” they tell you decisively. “Like ripping off a band-aid! We’ve been dancing around this for _years._ I don’t know about Toriel, but I have my hopes that Asgore will be understanding. I’m tired of sneaking around, Ree.”

“Let’s at least give it long enough to come up with some kind of _plan_ though,” you caution. They’re snuggly and cute, but this new impulsive streak Chara is showing confuses and scares you. It’s just brain chemicals, you try to remind yourself. They’ll be back to normal in the morning. “Whatever Rufus has, I think you might be catching it.”

Chara snorts inelegantly and pats your shoulder lightly. “I like him,” they say. “He’s a sweet boy. I’m glad I went through with this after all.”

“He’s all right,” you agree reluctantly. “Are you going to stay with him again tomorrow?”

 _“I,”_ says Chara, giggling, “will be hiding in the librarby and avoiding any and all social interaction because talking to new people is _fucking terrifying_ and I have earned my right to take it easy for a day, so _there.”_

You let out the breath you’d been holding and grin. There’s your Chara.

“Do you want me to fish you out for meals? I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to bring food in there.”

“That sounds good to me,” they say, leaning back into you. They’re shivering now—not from cold, probably, but from all this excess energy.

“I’ll keep Rufus distracted,” Prase says from the other side of the room, waving lazily. “I’ve warned him about a hundred times that you’re shy, he’ll understand.”

“Good,” Chara says, and again: “Good.” They wrap their arms around your bicep, still snickering, blushing again. “Come to bed. Let’s be absolutely sappy and disgusting and embarrass Prase.”

“Okay, okay,” you tell them. “I’ll change into my PJs and we can go to bed.”

Predictably, you’ve only been spooning for three minutes when Chara passes out. You smile down at them fondly anyway, hugging them close to your chest as they sleep. At least you were able to get them in bed before they crashed this time—you’ve had to sneak them back to your room more than once with them all exhausted and maudlin in your arms.

Prase puts their crossword down and watches you cuddle Chara for a few moments. “Adrenaline crash?” they ask. When you nod, they smile a little. “I was starting to wonder if you’d slipped some of your mom’s beer into their drink while nobody was looking.”

“Oh my gosh?” you exclaim as quietly as you can manage. “Why would I even do anything that awful???”

“I’m glad I was wrong,” Prase says mildly, which is not an answer to your question at all. “Hey, Asriel?”

 _“What,”_ you stage-whisper over Chara’s head.

“Once you’re done with your address and things have settled down,” they say, “do you want to join in on Chara’s sign lessons?”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it. “Huh?”

“It looked to me like you didn’t like feeling left out, the other day,” they say, and pick their crossword back up. “It’s pretty useful to learn, too, and you should if you’re going to be helping your parents work with my dad.”

“I’ll think about it,” you manage.

“Okay,” says Prase. “If you’re going to sleep, can I keep the light on until I finish this?”

“Sure,” you tell them. “I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” they say. “Goodnight, Asriel.”

“Goodnight,” you reply, winded.

 

 

The next two days pass in a great flurry of activity, and you hardly see Chara, Prase, and Rufus at all. There’s a lot of discussion of potential ways to send ice and snow to the Core to solve the projected problems with overheating that Gaster has explained to your parents; every time there’s a break, your mother or father whisks you away to deal with other local issues—Gyftrot is still having trouble with local teens, and there’s discussion over whether it’s worth changing out the misspelled library sign to something new and better. All the local monsters want to say hello, and that they’re rooting for you, and that it’s nice to see you with the fallen humans, and how it makes them believe in a future of coexistence.

You don’t know how well you’re doing, but at least your parents don’t have to swoop in and save you obviously enough that you can tell they’re doing it. You miss Chara, when you have the time to. They stroke your tired shoulders at night, and rest their head against your chest so that you can sleep.

A consensus is eventually reached to send ice blocks to the Core on the river, and on the third day, you and Chara and Prase and your family travel back up the river to the city yourselves. Prase leaves you in Hotland; your parents go back to bustling about the house immediately. You and Chara return to your room—you slump onto the bed, and watch lazily as Chara fishes their book out from the drawer they left it in and hold it to their chest the same way you used to cuddle your favorite toys.

They sit down next to you, leaning, and you sit in companionable silence for a while.

“I’ll read it to you after your address,” Chara says at length.

“Okay,” you say. A thought occurs to you, and you frown. “Oh darn.”

“What is it?”

“My speech,” you say. “I’ve been so busy the last couple of days I haven’t practiced it at all.”

“Oops,” Chara says. You groan.

 

 

It’s a lot harder to recite a whole speech from memory than you thought it would be, and you have no reprieve because Chara is holding your note cards hostage. (“They aren’t professional,” they keep saying, fake-patient; “besides, you’re good at this, Ree. Just relax and you’ll do fine.”)

The worst part is that your thoughts keep straying, and halfway through your promises to do your best and learn from your people with humility and grace, you get all muddled and wind up trying to explain that you love Chara and have always loved them and please, you must understand. You often don’t catch yourself at this until you see Chara’s face going bright red from where they sit watching you pace.

“This is the _worst,”_ you whine, slumping down on the floor. “And you should stop me sooner! You’re so mean.”

“Let’s put it this way,” Chara says, narrowing their eyes at you. “If _I_ started rhapsodizing earnestly about how we fell in love and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you, would you want me to shut up or keep talking?”

“That’s a good point,” you admit. They lift their chin and look both superior and embarrassed. “But now we _have_ to talk to Mom and Dad, or else I’m just… going to do that in front of _everyone in the underground.”_

“That would definitely be a bit much,” Chara agrees. They reach up and start playing with their locket. “We should just—do it. Tell them that we want to talk to them and do it. Waiting won’t get us anywhere anymore. We have to be brave.”

You push yourself up.

“Can you?” you ask them. It’s mean, but this is something that you won’t be able to take back once you’ve set it in motion. “Can you manage this?”

They bite their lower lip for a while, and then stare at you. Their eyes are full of that new burning thing that worries you so.

“As long as I have you with me,” they tell you, unwavering. Your stomach does a flip, and, well—that’s that. Your course is set.

“Tonight?” you ask, your mouth going dry.

Chara takes a deep breath. “Tonight,” they agree. “Before we lose our nerve.”

“Okay,” you say, and you get to your feet. They stand, too, and you reach out to each other, fitting your four hands together in one knot. “Okay.”

 

 

“Can I—can _we_ talk to you about a thing?” you ask at dinner, you and Chara looking across the table at your father while your mother clears the table.

Your parents both pause, and exchange glances.

“Of course,” your mother says. You wonder what she’s thinking, what conclusions she and your father have reached together. “I will get these put away first.”

You sit in silence, then. Your father examines his claws, calm and impassive, or at least pretending to be those things so well that you can’t tell the difference. There are white streaks here and there in his beard.

The idea of replacing him and your mother as leader of the underground still feels wrong and foreign, but you know that they’re getting older, and you know that you’re why, and that as long as you’re breathing that’s a responsibility that you can’t escape. You hope that you can be as good and as strong as they are. You hope that you can love Chara as much as they love each other.

You hope that this is the first step towards reaching where they are.

You reach for Chara’s hand under the table, and your mother returns to the living room and sits down.

“Mom,” you say, faltering: “Dad. I know there’s—there’s a lot of things getting talked about now that I’m going to be helping you until I’m ready to take the throne. So there’s something that I—that we want to get cleared up before it turns into a problem. I’m sorry. I know it’s cowardly of us to wait until we had no other choice but to talk. But I, we…”

This is where your voice cracks, and you turn helplessly to Chara, who’s staring stony-faced at the table, their hair falling into their face.

“Asriel and I have been keeping a secret from you,” they say, very quietly.

“I see,” your father says, levelly. “And you are ready to speak to us about it now?”

Chara’s gaze flicks to you for a moment. They fold their lower lip into their mouth, and then they nod.

Just—do it, you urge yourself. Be brave. You take a deep breath.

“I love Chara,” you blurt out, and you feel yourself redden, feel the tears gathering in your eyes—fear and shame and defiance and a hundred billion emotions you don’t have names for. “I’m in love with Chara, okay, I—I’ve loved them from the beginning, since the day I found them. We’ve been—we’ve been sort of, not really ‘dating’ because we don’t—go on dates but—we’ve had a thing, for a long while, and we know we should’ve told you sooner but we were, _I_ was, worried you’d think it’s weird ‘cause you’re sort of like Chara’s parents too, or, I don’t know, just—”

“Asriel, you’re babbling,” Chara mutters.

You _know that,_ but they’re not exactly helping, so what are you supposed to do—except that they are helping you, actually, because they haven’t let go of your hand this entire time. You take a deep breath and lift your joined hands up, rest them on the table so that your parents can see. Not a secret. Not anymore.

“I love Chara,” you say again. You swallow and make yourself take a breath. “I love them and I want to spend the rest of my life with them, and I know that might—cause trouble because I’m the heir and I’m supposed to marry somebody more—proper or acceptable or whatever. But I don’t _want_ somebody more proper, I want Chara.”

“I know that I don’t deserve it,” Chara says, their voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve all given me so much already. I’m not in a position to ask for anything more. But I… Even if I’ll always be me no matter how I try… I still love Asriel. He’s my whole life. If I—if I’m allowed—I want to do what I can to support him.”

“That’s, uh—” You cough, awkwardly. This is as far as planning and courage can take you. “That’s all, I guess.”

When you dare a look up at your parents’ faces, trying to prepare yourself for shock or anger or disgust—they’re… smiling at you?

“Oh, my dear children,” your mother says, “we already knew that.”

“Huh?” is all you can manage in response. “H—how?”

“You said it yourself eight years ago, did you not?” she goes on.

When you stare blankly, trying to wrack your brains for any memory of informing your parents of your love for Chara back when you were little, your mother and father exchange glances.

“‘You’re the only one who really gets me’,” your father recites. “‘I don’t want to let you go to someplace I can’t touch you anymore’. Oh, yes, and… ‘You’ve got to stay alive. You just have to, okay? You’re too important’.”

Chara squeaks—from mortification or horror or surprise, you don’t know, but those are very definitely feelings you’re wrestling with right now.

“I think that about covers it, Gorey,” your mother says, cheerful.

“Oh my god,” is all you can manage. You do your best to hide your face in your free hand. It’s embarrassing enough when _Chara_ brings up your big love confession from all those years ago—you never even considered that your parents might have understood it for what it was, too!

“We have always been aware of how the two of you feel for each other,” your father tells you very gently. “That is why we have always refused to arrange a marriage for you, Asriel. We did not want to obstruct you and Chara if you one day decide to marry.”

“Oh,” you say. “Oh.”

“Your father and I are still glad that you finally felt ready to tell us directly,” says your mother. “It must have been difficult, feeling as though you had to hide your relationship from us… You do not have to fear anymore. _You already have our blessing.”_

Chara’s grip on your hand tightens painfully. When you uncover your face and look at them, you see that they have their free hand pressed over their mouth, that their shoulders are shaking, and that their face is wet with tears.

You blink a few times, take a deep breath, and raise your face to look at your smiling mother and father. “I,” you begin, but your voice is going all funny, and you have to stop to clear your throat. “Thank you,” you say instead. “Mom—Dad—thank you so much.”

Your father reaches across the table to gently lay the tips of his fingers on your and Chara’s intertwined hands, and your mother puts her arm around his waist, and all the awful knotted-up things inside you ease.

 

 

Your father’s voice echoes through the auditorium, but you can’t hear what he’s saying at all. Nervousness has filled your entire body with white static, and you can’t stop pacing back and forth in the wings.

“Ree,” Chara whispers from beside you. They grab your hands and hold you still. “Be careful or you’re going to trip over your robes.”

“I can’t do this,” you say numbly. “I can’t remember any of the words.”

“You’ll be okay,” they tell you. “I know you’ve got this. If it comes down to it, you can just make something up that’s even better. You’re good with public speaking! You’re good at moving people.”

“I’m not ready,” you say, looking blankly at them. You’re a mismatched pair: You in your formalwear, carefully combed and made up, and Chara in plain clothes—a sweater and ratty jeans. But the golden hearts you wear are and always will be the same, and that’s a sorely needed comfort right now.

“Yes you are,” Chara tells you. “No—listen to me, Ree. You’ve been preparing for this ever since you were born. You’ve never been readier. You are the prince of this kingdom’s future. You can’t go wrong here. I believe in you.”

You smile weakly at them. “Which one of us is supposed to have the silver tongue, again?”

“Still you,” they say, and grin back. They set their hands on your shoulders and rise up to meet you in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly, their tongue hot and wet and gentle against your own. You squeeze their waist between your hands and whine into their mouth, but the next moment they’re easing away, pressing the back of their hand to their lips.

“For luck,” they say, and they smile up at you all red-faced and sweet and devious.

You want to sweep them up in your arms, but you get the feeling that your audience would raise their eyebrows at you if you tried to go out onstage all rumpled from cuddling, so you restrain yourself with an effort.

“I love you,” you tell them.

“I love you, too,” Chara says. “Now get out there and make me proud.”

You swallow and creep up to the edge of the stage.

“—my son, Asriel Dreemurr,” your father is saying, gesturing towards where you wait.

You take a deep breath and step out under the bright lights, hoping that your stride looks purposeful instead of timid. Your parents step away from the podium, giving you more than enough room to stand behind it comfortably.

There are a lot more monsters listening to you than you thought, and that’s even without counting the cameras, the TV broadcast for everybody who can’t be here to watch in person. But if you squint at the crowd, you realize that you recognize every single face you can pick out.

You remember Chara saying that once you’ve lived here long enough, nobody is a stranger. They’re right about that, you think. And you feel a lot better about that than you would have imagined. The audience isn’t just a faceless mass. These are people you care about. These are people you want to serve well, if you’re going to have to be a leader. These are people whose hopes and dreams you want to protect.

So you square your shoulders, and take a breath to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic got fanart from floweysfuckhouse ([mostly prase](http://floweysfuckhouse.tumblr.com/post/138824975651/), [asriel and the baby bones](http://floweysfuckhouse.tumblr.com/post/140141668691)), [eristastic](http://eristastic.tumblr.com/post/139912535737/), [rainglazed](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/141518061120), and [@edgeypoo](https://twitter.com/edgeypoo/status/782934814223511554)! thank you!!


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